Ghost wandered down the halls of the barracks, looking for open doors, taking note of which rooms were sealed. Not that he honestly cared what the men did on their break, but he thought it was important to keep tabs on them and their habits. They were his men, of course. Their strong friendships might carry onto the battlefield and beyond, but it was also important to understand that they were a functioning military unit.
A few doors were closed, as they usually were during some down time. Ghost didn't bother to press his ears to the doors; there was no use on eavesdropping on what was happening behind those doors. They were men being men, deprived of contact with women for months on end. Ghost had no business with their personal business. But other doors were open, and if Ghost were to look in, he would most likely see them reading, sleeping, or playing a card game with a fellow soldier.
Passing his own door, Ghost observed that it was cracked open slightly, and he took a peek inside. Roach was collapsed on the bottom bunk, face buried in the thin pillow, legs bunched up close to his body. He was curled like a baby animal, his broad shoulders and awkward, muscular arms cramped as they were tucked close to him. Rolling his eyes, Ghost gave a short smile underneath his mask and shut the door completely, leaving Roach to his well-deserved nap. The kid had worked himself overtime this past week, doing all he could to impress Ghost with what he considered a new level of maturity. Ghost still saw the same squirrely new kid, but with a greater motivation than before. Even though Ghost thought he could work a little more, a little harder, the effort was very welcome.
Continuing down the hall, boots no more than a whisper, Ghost peered into the next open door, Archer and Toad's room. Toad was nowhere to be found, but Archer was perched on the top bunk, a well-worn book in his large hands. Ghost rolled his eyes, sighing as he walked into the room. The copy of Stephen King's The Talisman was nearly torn in half, the cover half eaten away with use. The binding on the side was also coming undone, as Archer was almost never without the book. Knocking on the doorjamb to make himself known, Ghost walked into the room.
"Hey Archer, how are you doing?" he asked the sniper, who looked up from his book with startled eyes. He laid the book down on the bed sheets, letting it rest open, facing down. With a shrug of his shoulders, he hopped down from the bunk, hitting the ground without a sound.
"I'm doing alright, man. Hey, do you remember where those weapon request forms are? I couldn't find them in the armory, and my sweetheart has been acting up. I think something is wrong with her barrel, and no amount of cleaning has been doing her any good. I don't want to take her out on a mission if she isn't hitting center ten out of ten times." This almost brought a sad, clouded expression over the sniper's face. Holding back a scoff, Ghost nodded. What the sniper was saying was completely valid- that he shouldn't go out on a mission with any weapon, even if it was his favorite, if it wasn't functioning one hundred percent.
The part that unsettled Ghost was that Archer spoke about his rifle like it was a living, breathing female. Her official name, according to Archer, was "Panther," although he also commonly referred to her as "Black Beauty." Additional terms of endearment were "my baby," "my sweetheart," and "my darling." Whether it was only Ghost that was uncomfortable with this, he would never know, but with the sniper that had such clean work it was practically art, the naming of weapons was the least of his concern. Still nodding, Ghost tried to recall where he had put those dumb forms.
"I think I put them in Soap's office, we were running low, and had a bunch of them already complete. So you don't worry, I'll go to his office now to see if I can get some more copies out. Thanks for letting me know, man." With a half smile of gratitude, Archer smiled and started to move for the door.
"No problem boss. I'm just gonna take a leak, if you wouldn't mind, leave the forms in my room. Thanks." With a nod, Ghost left the room and started walking down the hall, Archer headed in the other direction towards the latrines. A couple of steps away from the room, a bolt of curiosity struck Ghost. What was so good about that book that Archer was wearing it to its death? With a quick check over his shoulder, seeing that Archer was gone, Ghost backtracked to the room he was just in, pouncing on the book that still lay open.
First looking at the back cover, Ghost was filled with intrigue. He wasn't the hugest Stephen King fan, but this book sounded great, interesting, and led Ghost to flip the book over, reading the page that Archer was flipped open to. And the words that first greeted his eyes were quite a surprise.
"If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans." Tilting his head to the side in confusion, Ghost read further, reading what seemed like an introspective account of some man who worked with animals, like a veterinarian. Unless Ghost was gravely confused, this was nothing like the book that had been described on the back.
His eyes darted to the top of the page by the page number, sure to indicate the truth of the matter. It was a complete surprise when he read the title, "All Creatures Great and Small."
Ghost must have been standing for longer than he thought, for Archer came back into the room, announced with a large yell.
"HEY! What are you doing? Put that down!" Thundering closer, Archer snatched the worn paper from Ghost's hands, clutching it close to his body. Putting his hands up in a show of surrender, Ghost backed away under the fiercely intense gaze. Archer glowered, growling angry words at Ghost.
"I didn't ask you to come and invade my personal space. My literature is none of your business. So back away, and don't you dare mention it to anyone." The intensity would have frightened Ghost had he not been a weathered soldier, but it merely took him aback. The normally calm and stoic man seemed ready to kill, and Ghost more than recognized the look of rage in his eyes. He tried to use his monotone, cold voice to calm the fire that raged in Archer's skull.
"Hey, don't worry. I don't care what you read. I don't see why you have to hide it. Don't worry about people teasing you, from what I've heard, it's a good book. More than anything, I just want to know why. What about it makes it good enough for you to read it that many times?"
His questions were honest. The literature and language used was superb, and the first words he had read were memorable enough to still be echoing in his head amongst the madness. Archer's shoulders relaxed slightly, the book less tightly clutched in his grasp. With a sigh, Archer brushed past Ghost and sat on the lower bunk. He set the book down next to him, and put his head in his hands.
"It helps me feel human, Ghost. It helps me feel human. I kill for a living, I'm a sniper, a paid murderer, those men I strike down are hardly even names to me. I see nothing more than a red target painted on their face. And even though I came to terms with what I do a long time ago, it doesn't make me feel like any less of a monster at night. I hear gunshots when I close my eyes sometimes, I can see a pink mist splattering across pavement. And I realize that I'm hardly human anymore. All of my instincts are honed to kill, slaughter, and strike people down.
"I hardly even see them as people. They are prey. This book… I've read since I was a kid. It's a reminder how animals are more human than some of us will ever be, and are born knowing the things that we have to be taught. We have to be taught loyalty, love, and kindness. Animals are born knowing all of that. They are born knowing how to walk, communicate, and have faithfulness. Humans take years, years upon years to do any of those. Some people never learn. Some people know nothing of loyalty or love or fidelity. That leaves them without a soul, doesn't it?
"I might have loyalty to the team, to my family, and love for my country and family and wife. But what I do takes away part of that soul. This book has so much in it, so much that a man says and does to preserve life, take on the challenges he's faced with, I just feel more like a person when I read it. It never gets old, and each time the words on the page go through my mind, they mean something new to me. They help define me in a world where all I see is blood, all I smell is gunpowder, and all I hear is gunshots, and my nightmares don't just exist in dreams. That's why, Ghost. That's why."
There were no more words to be said. Ghost left the room without a word, leaving the sniper to take a moment to himself, maybe even continue reading.
As much as he hated to admit it, Ghost could relate to all of the horrors that Archer described with a fierce burning in his heart. He wished that for once, he had an escape like that.
He also wished he knew it was like to have someone love him.
Thanks so much for reading "The Book," a short story about a soldier wanting to feel more human. I sat down thinking I would write a cute little fic about a guy reading a fluffy book, and it turned into something much longer, and much, much deeper than I had originally intended. I really hope you enjoy my work. Any comments, questions, suggestions, drop me a PM or review. Thanks again!